The Colours Of life
by Runa93
Summary: A series of narratives based on various colors, of varying lengths. Open to suggestion. New chapter-Red.
1. White

**White**

The falls disappeared in a spray of white foam, far under me. I heard their gurgling and splashing, could almost feel the ground trembling as the water rushed past me and into the yawning chasm. But I noticed none of this, and only saw the never ending whiteness.

There was no other color.

Holmes was gone.

Oh god. No.

**A/N: If anyone wants a specific color or a specific incident done, do please tell me. **


	2. Black

**Black**

I pulled distastefully at the fabric of my clothing as my carriage rattled its way down the street.

It is a little known fact but I am fastidious about my clothing. Black does not suit me. I may enjoy somber colors but black is not included in them. For the thousandth time, I wished Sherlock had though twice before carrying out his foolhardy plan. The last I had heard of him, he was somewhere in Khartoum, under the name of Siegerson.

I sighed deeply. This affair was proving more troublesome than I had anticipated. I looked out of the window, idly wondering about Sherlock's expression when he returned and I throttled him.

My thoughts were arrested as I noticed a familiar figure. Calling for my man to stop, I leaned out of the window and noticed that we were standing next to a cemetery. Mourners and relatives alike were leaving it, leaving only one man behind, bending over a grave. It does not require a man of my perception to see that it was the good doctor.

Black does not sit well on him either.

**A/N: I've never done Mycroft's voice before, hope I did this alright…..**


	3. Silver And Gold

**Silver and Gold**

Watson had been unconscious for only so many seconds but for Holmes it was agonizingly long. Perhaps it was the fear, the cold growing fear, that he had lost his friend forever, but most of all it was the guilt which hung over his soul like a naked sword.

A thousand apologies, a million, would not make up for the pain he had caused, would not ease the burden on his soul, as he saw his Watson before him, weary and beaten.

Watson stirred and Holmes knew relief. He tentatively reached out and touched his shoulder. Watson opened his eyes.

Gold orbs blinked at silver ones, then, inexplicably, a joyful smile spread over Watson's face.

**A/N: I'm not exactly sure of Watson's eye color. There are so many variations. But for the purpose of this chapter, I settled onto brown, which turns gold in the sunlight. **


	4. Purple

**A/N: This one's for KCS who asked about Holmes's dressing gown………I know its probably not what you wanted but I could not come up with an appropriate reason as to **_**why**_** it was purple. Hope you like it any way!**

**Purple**

"Well, what do you think, Watson?" Holmes looked proudly at me, obviously waiting for some kind of reply. Possibly a compliment.

For the moment, I was too stupefied to answer him. I sat exactly as I was sitting when he had shown me it, my spoon frozen midway in its journey to my mouth.

Holmes seemed disappointed. "Don't you like it?" he asked, as he held out his new dressing gown to me. "I thought it was a fine color."

"Yes, very….very good." My throat had gone dry with a curious mixture of horror and an intense desire to laugh.

"You don't seem too happy." He said, sounding petulant. He held it up higher causing me to edge away more. "What's wrong with it?"

With difficulty, I swallowed the curious blockage in my throat and attempted to explain. "Well, you see, it-what I mean to say that it's a little….too….intense. That is to say, bright."

"Bright?" Holmes glanced at it in puzzlement.

"I-Yes. I mean, of course, there is no problem in you wearing in it of course, but just don't-don't show it to Mrs. Hudson…." I trailed off, unsure of what else to say and _if_ there was anything I could say at all.

"Why not?"

"Holmes, it's _purple._"


	5. Grey

_When the wind is dry _

_As the dust in your throat _

_When tears dry away _

_In the dusty dry desert of your imagination_

_When the last one left has withered away,_

_Then, friend, I take your hand, and _

_My Father, I come to you. _

**Grey**

The war years were swift and savage in their punishment, but for those who lived through them, they seemed to stretch forever. An endless field, whose horizon stretches far away into the distance. Unreachable. An illusion.

Their cottage stood near the edge of the many tiny other cottages. Secluded, also untouched. People dropped their voices to low whispers, almost reverently, as they passed it by. Behind it, a series of hives, now empty and devoid of their inhabitants, loom in the horizon, a remainder of times long gone.

The cottage's last caretaker, an elderly gentleman who had passed on a few years prior, was the only one with any knowledge of the key and generations of villagers had sought, and failed, to enter the house. No attempt was made to break the window panes and door locks, and the house stayed as it was, graying away though the years.

Perhaps, if any would have entered, they would have found, a room, layered with dust, and a disused fireplace….

Or perhaps, they would have found an old tin box, battered and faded with time, containing yellowing sheaf's of papers, which contain evidences of one of the most beautiful friendships of this world?

An overgrown garden perhaps, with weeds, and needing a gardeners touch…

And on the other end, two graves, side by side, covered with weeds, obscuring the names……………

Perhaps….?

**A/N: I wrote this immedietly after reading KCS's "My Dear Watson". So do forgive me if this sounds nonsensical at places.**


	6. Red

**A/N: It is recommended that people with vivid imaginations do not read this. **

**Red.**

It slithered and dripped.

_Impossible…he can't be _

It stole down slowly, like a thief.

_He's not….he's…._

It left a dark hateful trail behind, marking its triumphant voyage.

_No…he's not…that's not….it's…._

_Splatter!_

Blood.

It trickled in between his fingers, no matter how much he tried to stop it, cupping his hand over the wound, but still it fell. Drop by drop, stealing away life.

"Ho…lmes…"

The normally assured voice is dulled today, the calm behind his words splattered to bits by the racing agony at his side.

_Watson is hurt._

No!

Impossible, it couldn't have happened!

_Blood._

Its not…

_His blood._

"No…" The word escaped sooner than he had intended, unmasking the desperation in his heart. His friend's eyes flickered with an odd understanding.

"Holmes…."

The side of his shirt was soaked, dark and deep. It weighed down as he lifted his friend, leaving drops on the floor. Watson gave a gasp of agony.

_Keep calm. _

He's…He's…

_Dying._

"No!" The word shot out of his lips with force, as if defying the entire world. But the world was not his to defy…

"Holmes…"

_Watson._

"Its…alright…"

_Is it?_

"The wound…is not…deep…"

_But-_

"I'll be…fine."

_The blood._

"Please… calm down…Holmes."

The warm words finally succeeded in soothing him.

Sherlock Holmes rested his still shaking arms on the floor and closed his eyes. His tired eyelids stopped their quivering and grew dull and heavy. Beside him, he heard Watson shift on the rough mattress where he had been laid.

"How are you?" It sounded so ridiculous…

"Better." There was a small sound and he sensed Watson moving. His eyes shot open.

"Watson, lie down!"

"I'm perfectly fine!"

"Not with that injury you're not!" Even the sight of the blood soaked shirt made him feel nauseous.

"I'm _fine_, Holmes. Atleast," Here Watson gave a small smile, "better than him."

The ruffian was curled up in the corner, his arm twisted in a curious way. A steady stream of blood was trickling down his forehead and his mouth. In short he looked like a battering ram had hit him.

"Holmes, he needs treatment."

"No he doesn't."

"Yes he does."

"No."

"_Holmes_."

"Nothing you say will persuade me."

"He might die, Holmes."

"Good."

"_Holmes!"_

"He deserves it." He looked up and saw Watson's eyes. They were flickering with exasperation, an amount of pain, but most of all…understanding. He got to his feet. There was the sound of feet outside the door.

"That must be Lestarde." He lifted his friend, handling him as carefully as a fragile doll. "We must get going."

"Are you sure you're fine?"

_He knows. _

Of course he knew. Something like this couldn't miss Watson's eye.

He gave a small smile. "No. But I soon will be."

_Just pray to God this never happens again._

**A/N: That was scary. I can't believe I wrote this. I seriously need a check up. And I'm getting too obsessed with Dark!Holmes for my own liking. **

**Though this isn't **_**technically **_**bad is it? Just emotionally draining. For me, anyway. **

**Recommandation: Reading this while listening to **_**Jon Bon Jovi's **_**"**_**Its My Life"**_** gives a nice touch. **

**If you liked please review, and don't leave me hanging like "OMG! What if people were too freaked out by this!" **

**Thank you!**


	7. Pink

**Pink**

I kept my mouth firmly closed during the entire of the conversation. To my right, Holmes did the same, only answering when he was asked something. To my left, Mycroft kept his gaze firmly fixed onto a spot above the lady's head, clearly not daring to look down.

The Countess continued talking, clearly oblivious to our obvious discomfort. She was certainly very enthusiastic. Every time she strove to make a point, both of her hands moved with a ferocity that I didn't know she possessed. How Holmes could sit directly opposite her and not be badly affected, I did not know.

After she had finished and left the room, Mycroft finally unglued his gaze from the ceiling and looked at his younger brother.

"Well?"

"I'm declining this case." Said Holmes flatly.

Mycroft merely looked at me. I hesitated, and then spoke. "I have nothing against the woman as such, but her clothing is…" I hesitated again, striving to find the right word, "…very bright."

Mycroft gently nodded. "It is not a case of much interest, anyway."

Our door opened and Mrs. Hudson stepped inside. She looked out of breath and slightly shocked. "Was that the Countess, sir?"

"Yes, it was." Holmes tilted his head and regarded our landlady with something akin to mischief in his eyes.

Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath. "I don't know about you, sirs, but that was a very _atrocious _ pink!"

**A/N: For this chapter, I'm really sorry to all pink loving people! I like pink too but I hate it in excess. Especially the frilly type. The pink over here isn't the deep or dark pink but that half light very frilly pink . And imagine someone comes in wearing **_**entire **_**dress which is of that colour. I don't know about you , but it would give me a heart attack!**

**Criticism is appreciated, as is compliments! **


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